


How Not To Die

by Aurumsky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Mutant Reader, Not Canon Compliant, Sort Of, Temporary Character Death, Universe Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:41:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22069444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurumsky/pseuds/Aurumsky
Summary: The Avengers are a plague to the planet. You've dedicated the past five years of your life to fighting them with no promise of victory or success and no end in sight.On one mission, you die.And then you wake up.But you're not where you were before, and there's something not quite right.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have the most vague sense of where I'm going with this story, but I have at least next two chapters written...
> 
> The title is a work in progress, this is what I've called this story since it was just an idea, so..

You've dedicated your life to one cause: taking down the Avengers.

They appeared in 2012, stopping an alien invasion and the world rejoiced. It had been followed by a year of blissful peace, where the group of people promised their protection to the world. The speech was remarkable, you've seen it many times.

Tony Stark AKA Iron Man, the beloved billionaire playboy made superhero and Steve Rogers AKA Captain America, war hero from the 1940's and the face of America announced themselves as the co-leaders of the group, introduced Thor, a so called god from another plane of existence, Bruce Banner, AKA the Hulk and a verified genius whose normal face no one knows, and the spy twins, Black Widow and Hawkeye who, also, wished to keep their faces hidden.

They swore, pledged, to lay down their lives for you if necessary, to act as the last line of defense and lead the world to a better path.

You still feel hope whenever you watch the video.

You were thirteen back then, your mutant powers only manifesting themselves, and the future looked bright. Then SHIELD fell and everything went downhill so fast you only had time to blink.

True colors were shown and masks thrown aside. The Avengers were strong and fierce and were the best America had to offer on any front. The government fell within a week, half of Europe in three months. Hydra reared its head not long after and the world became a playground for them and the Avengers.

You were fourteen and a mutant and on the run. Hope wasn't even in your vocabulary.

It's been a difficult five years or so, but you've managed with the help of others as pressed for the betterment of the world as you. Resistances have risen and fallen over the years, less and less as the time passes.

* * *

"(L/N)." You turn, hoping for a simple wish of goodnight, but instead you're greeted with the sight of Parker and Jones fully decked in their gear.

"You need me?"

Jones grimaces. "It's Widow and Captain this time. We need to get to Florida before them. A rumour about some former SHIELD bases being taken back into operation."

You rub a hand over your face. "How much are they ahead of us?"

Parker checks his watch. "Murdock says they'll leave in five. If you're ready in four they'll have only two minutes."

"I'll be at the dispatch in three," you say and run ahead of them to get your gear. It's all made with the combined effort of Parker, Pym, McCoy and someone Murdock found in Hell's Kitchen. You don't know his name but the man is a miracle worker.

The funding comes from Pym and Xavier and the monarch of Wakanda who also has sent their vibranium over and you use what little they get away with giving for free to shield your bases and some gadgets. Your watch/shield/whatever the hell you need is powered by vibranium, a handmade token provided by Princess Shuri of Wakanda herself. She's a gift and you love her dearly.

You are worth your word and are ready at the dispatcher at two minutes and fourty seconds. Parker passes you a magazine as you climb into the vechile. Jones is off two seconds afterwards.

"New bullets. Pym and McCoy think they'll be able to paralyze Rogers."

You roll the magazine in your hands and nod. "Anything helps as long as we hit. Thanks, Parker."

You don't do first names in this place, can't afford it. Last names keep the place militaristic and doesn't give the illusion that things are good. First names mean closeness and friendship, and in this place and time and age, you could lose anyone. So long as you keep your head buried deep in denial you won't be losing any friends.

The last person you called by their first name was your friend in Xavier's school and now she's dead.

You don't do first names.

* * *

Miraculously, you reach the base before Captain and Widow.

The rumours are not only rumours and you are welcomed by three guns trained to your heads. There's no time to convince them you're on their side before Captain is jumping off their camouflaged aircraft and two of the agents shoot at him. The bullets bounce off of his shield.

Widow follows closely behind and she kills one of the five SHIELD agents and hits Jones on the shoulder. Jones growls and jumps to tackle Widow on the ground.

You focus on trying to put a bullet in the Captain. He's fighting Parker and two SHIELD agents at once, your presence almost forgotten, exept he never fully offers a clear shot. You bide your time. You're used to waiting.

Jones is doing a number on Widow, but you never stop worrying about her. She's one of your best but Widow is theirs and Jones isn't immortal.

Parker maneuvers himself out of the way of Rogers' punch, and he hits the brunette agent instead, but his elbow lifts and you have the clearest shot you'll get.

The bullet whizzes past Parker and sinks into the Captain's side with ease. Rogers at first does nothing but turn to you with a menacing growl, but before anything else can be said or done, his body convulses and collapses.

Parker sends you a thumbs up. Jones yells.

You're faster and stronger than any normal human. Your reflexes are on par with Parker's, and your eyesight has been compared to an eagle's or a shrimp's by Pym and Xavier.

None of those can help you now because success is humming in your head and Jones' yell doesn't sound like a warning and Parker is smiling at you- though he always smiles but this time it's different. A weight hits your side full force, and you fall under the twisted sneer on Black Widow's face.

Her green eyes gleam in the scarce light the base provides in the night as she flips a knife in her hand and dodges the punch you throw at her.

Parker and Pym and McCoy and the nameless man from Hell's Kitchen are miracle workers, but even the tactical gear they can produce doesn't stand a chance against the blade Widow sinks into your heart.


	2. Chapter 2

You awaken to a falling sensation, a phantom pain in your heart. Your eyes throw open.

First all you see is white. With a bunch of blinking, you start making out the lines of grey sky beyond the clouds. You squeeze your eyes shut.

Why are you surprised to wake up? You blink, listen, then push yourself into a sitting position. The only thing you see is dried grass for miles.

That's not right. You frown. Your hand goes up and presses over your heart, fingers pushing against your vest. For some reason you are surprised it doesn't hurt. You pull the neckline of your shirt lower, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

That's not how it should be, you think and release the fabric.

Looking around, the only thing you see is a hint of a forest in the horizon. Your first thought is that you're on someone's farm field, the next is that this is Heaven. You scowl, hand once again pressing over your heart.

Wait. Stab. Stab stab stabbity stab. You were stabbed. Right through the heart. By Black Widow.

Huh.

You blink.

Huh.

Didn't think Heaven -or afterlife in general -was a thing. Thinking of afterlife, you're very uncertain if you'd actually make it into Heaven, if it were a true concept. Or, if you'd make it into any of the nice places that religions boast. You'd never given much credit to the concept of afterlife, if only because your favourite thing about being alive is getting to be unconcious. Afterlife would ruin death for you, to be honest.

You stand up, and perform a check if all your possessions are still on you. Your rifle is gone, maybe given that you weren't holding it when you died, but otherwise everything that was on you then is on you now. You check your pistol, count your bullets and find a protein bar in a pocket, push your hair off your face and start walking towards the forest.

* * *

It takes you up to an hour on your regular walking speed. You'd figured there's no rush now, since you'll have all of eternity to wander. And besides, just in case earthly effects are a thing here, you'd better invest in endurance rather than speed.

Somehow you're surprised there're phone lines running at the edge of the forest and over a road. Maybe afterlife is designed to look as much like Earth as possible.

You take a wiff of the air, smelling spruce trees, grass, asphalt, nitric oxide - and gasoline. Gasoline. Recent, fading into west. Narrowing your eyes, you follow the scent.

You've never really liked gasoline. That's why living in big cities is difficult with the overpowering smell of it everywhere. That means this is definitely not Heaven - at least not your personal Heaven - because there would be no disgusting smells like gasoline.

While you walk, there's time to think. About what-nows, about Parker and Jones and Barnes, the Avengers, about your life before all of this.

There aren't many regrets in your life, and all of them are small. Except the one where you regret dying and failing to kill both Rogers and Romanov when you had the chance. And separating from your parents on such terms.

Your father had been on the Avengers' side instantly, either because he truly believed it to be just or because of fear, you don't know. He got worse, and you'd left before he got the chance to realize you're a mutant. You don't miss him much, because you refuse to feel affection towards a man who is against who you are.

Your mother and her mutant lover had left for Europe in an attempt to escape. You had tried to talk her out of it, or to take you with them, but when you'd left your father and gone to your mother, she was already gone.

And you'd been alone.

Actually, maybe the regret you feel about your parents is rather centered around the fact that you wanted to have the last word with them. They'd both betrayed you, left you to fend for yourself, and you'd died before getting to spit on their faces.

You stomp your steps, anger arising with your thoughts. You'd loved your parents, truly, because they had been good parents. Until it became inconvenient for them.

You kick a stone and growl at it. There's no point in getting angry about it now, but telling yourself that makes you even angrier.

Your anger is dissipated by the distant, familiar sound of a hand being slapped against a vibranium shield. Instant, paralyzing fear overtakes your body.

You know, _you know_ , that there is no other vibranium in America than Captain's shield, and you _know_ Wilson always slaps it before setting flight (be it on Captain's back or in his hands).

And then you hear the wings unfold, the engine of a car. They're still a bit ways off, you think, listening to the engine, coming closer. You must've missed it because you were so in your thoughts earlier.

Shit. You start running. What the fuck is this? Why are Captain and Wilson here?

You duck off the road and into the cover of the forest, because they haven't seen you yet, and you'd rather take your chances in a forest rather than an open field. They couldn't be dead, could they? If they were, at least Captain would've had to die after you, raising the guestion of how the _fuck_ did he get a car? Did he die in it?

You jump over roots and swat aside branches. They're coming closer, at least the car. Wilson's wings are nearly inaudible, which annoys you to no end, because you'll rarely be able to tell if it's wind or him you're hearing. His voice, fortunately, is very loud.

"Not seeing anyone on the field. I'm sending Redwing to scout the forest."

 _Redwing_? You think hysterically, almost colliding with a boulder because you're not sure if you should jump over or go around. The redwing that fucking shoots on sight, the one that can tell if you're a mutant just by looking? The red and black machine of death constructed by Stark for Wilson to maximise kills? Fucking hell.

You hear Redwing as it separates from Wilson. Shit. Fuck. Even if you go top-speed, Redwing would be able to catch you, provided it followed you perfectly. You have fairly good reason to believe you can outrun them, but that would potentially require you to step back on the road and that won't do, because then Wilson or Captain would be able to shoot you. Though, you realize. Would they? Or, well, if you have guns and bullets they probably also have guns and bullets but what would that matter to you? You're _dead_. They're - most likely - dead.

The forest thins out. You run faster. You can't risk looking over your shoulder, but you do it anyway. No Wilson or Redwing in sight. You draw in a huge breath and strain a little more.

If you weren't being chased by two fucking lunatics, this would actually be fun. Running in a forest, relying on your instincts. It's animalistic and you're nothing if not animalistic.

And, as if like a miracle sent from above, you catch sights of a lake, and on the shore of that lake, a cottage. You make a sharp turn to the left, in its direction.

You taste the air while you go. No humans. Not for a while. You slow down to a trot as you near the cottage, assessing it. It has two stories but it's not overly big. If you can get inside, you have reason to believe you'll be alright.

The front door is locked, but the one on the lake side is open. The door leads to a mudroom, and you carefully close and lock the door. The mudroon leads into a bathroom, and the bathroom leads into a living space.

Oh my god. You push your hair back and exhale. This is not Heaven. _Definitely_ not Heaven. Not any nice place any religion boasts. This is a _personal Hell_. It's going to make you believe the Avengers are hunting you, and you'll have no rest until you finally grow tired of it and try to get yourself killed.

Gathering yourself and your trembling hands, you investigate the house. The groung floor consists of a kitchen and livingroom, the bathroom, and one bedroom. The upper floor is smaller, only having another lounge area and a bedroom at one end and a bathroom at the other.

You raid the kitchen, take a packet of cookies, a bottle of water, and beef jerky and take them upstairs into the bedroom which has a better view of the road than the bathroom, just in case someone decides to come over.

You settle with the door and the blinds closed, into a hopefully blind spot, and wait.

* * *

You wake up to a knock.

You startle up and grab your gun before you know what's going on. Your heart is in your throat as you listen to the outside, trying to smell anything from the outside. It's not the owners of the cottage, obviously, otherwise they wouldn't be knocking.

Moving as carefully as possible, you try to peek outside without standing up, but the angle is wrong. There's more knocking. You wonder why they're bothering. There wasn't a car outside and no other hints that there would be anyone. Even your footprints shouldn't be that obvious. You hope. You didn't even stop to check if you left any and if you did, were they obviously out of place.

Acting hastily, just in case anyone decides to break in the door, you launch yourself across the rooms and into the upstairs bathroom, which thankfully has only a small window. You turn on the shower, undress, are extremely glad to find a towel and hide your vest and gun into the practically empty laundry basket which you dump the rest of your clothes into, also. Just to hide them.

Then you jump under the spray of water, make sure especially your hair is completely wet, and step out to wrap yourself in a towel. The knocking is more insistent.

And then it's a huge crash as the door's kicked in.

You scream, because civilians scream when their houses are broken into. You count five people. Two of them are Captain and Wilson, the rest smell and sound like government.

And then you come out of the bathroom to stand on top of the stairs, making sure you look wobbly and scared. There are two men at the bottom of the stairs. One of them is in a black suit, looking like a goverment agent for all intents and purposes.

The other is what Captain would look like if he was still Captain America.

"Who are you?" You ask, hysterically, because while there is no doubt it's Steve Rogers behind that mask, that is not the Captain you know and hate. "What are you doing in my house?"

Rogers averts his eyes to your left shoulder and clears his throat. "I'm sorry, there... we are after a possibly dangerous individual. We have to search your house, just to be safe."

You square your shoulders and step forward. Rogers' cheeks tinge pink, and the government agent next to him rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses.

"Do you have a warrant?"

"No, we're SHIELD, this is Captain America, and you need to step aside for us."

Your eyes narrow. SHIELD. Working with Captain America who is not the one you know. This is starting to look less like afterlife and more like a fever dream.

There's ringing in your ears; the sounds of the other people in the house fades to a distant murmur. You press against the wall and the men ascend the stairs and go past you.

The upstairs isn't big. It doesn't take long for the Captain and the agent to check it. They're done and come past you downstairs in a matter of minutes. When they do, you're still pressed against the staircase wall, off in your thoughts. You wave off their apologies and attempts to compensate you for troubling you, able to focus just long enough to convince you're fine and to get them out of the house.

You catch a glimpse of Wilson when Captain calls everyone off, and he gives you a concerned look.

When the door is closed, you release a breath of air you'd been struggling to let go of, and lean against the wall. Your knees buckle and you slide to the floor.

"Everything alright?"

You startle up, knock your head against the wall, and then promptly fall back down on your knees, before you realize the person who spoke was Wilson, and his voice came from outside. You whine quietly, folding your head between your knees and pressing your hands against the spot you knocked.

"Yeah, why?"

You turn your head to glare at the wall, behind which the two Avengers are.

"No reason," Wilson says, "it just seemed... that something was off. If you're fine then forget about it."

"I'm fine."

Then you hear them leave. And then your towel starts undoing from around you, and you realize you're half-naked at a stranger's house, so you make your way back to the upstairs bathroom to dig your clothes out of the laundry basket. You feel weak and exhausted. Not from the running. Not even from the scare of being face-to-face with the Captain.

There's something that's not sitting well in your stomach, something that's skittishly trying to get your attention. It's like the world is just a little bit off; like it veers just slightly to the left. It's exhausting to think about, trying to chase that feeling to find out what it is, so instead you dress yourself, drink your water and eat the jerky and the cookies, and then you sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Figuring things out.

You don't sleep well. You dream of green eyes and falling, and when it's barely three in the morning, you don't even try anymore.

Upon dawn, you've found a backpack, a pair of jeans that fits you okay, and a jacket that you suppose no one will miss.

There's no computers or phones lying around, and you check the tv, but there's nothing useful on, so you pack the backpack and pick a direction.

It takes a three hours of walking to reach a gas station and the beginnings of a city. You stop by, use the bathroom to wash your face and armpits, and then ask to be directed to the library.

You don't get directions. But you do get a gift card to Starbucks from a lady who says you're too thin and that coffee upsets her stomach. You thank her, and she gives you a pat on the cheek and wishes you good luck.

You leave the gas station behind with a sense of foreboding.

Another hour of aimless wandering leads you to a public library. It's empty aside for a few students and the workers. You make a beeline to the computers, apprehensively eyeing the supply of books on your way.

Of course you've read books before, who hasn't, having been through school? You just haven't even seen a fictional book in a few years. There are a few scientific books around the base, often untouched. You'd tried reading them once or twice, but with a hundred people per book, there wasn't much chance for you to read it till the end.

Once you've sat in front of a computer and fired it up, you hesitate. Of course information is free and available, but it's always monitored. And you don't know how much you can get away with.

Carefully, you type 'AV' into the search bar. The first suggestions are 'Avery' and 'Avengers'. You click on the 'Avengers'.

There are pictures, there's a Wikipedia page, fanpages, forums, newspaper articles, everything. You go to the Wikipedia.

It's a fantasy.

Everything is the same until 2013. SHIELD still falls, the leak still happens, but the Avengers don't declare themselves 'the safest hands', the government hasn't fallen, the world is as it was. Wakanda has recently opened her borders and T'Challa is king.

You mourn for the death of his father, even though the most contact you've had with King T'Chaka are through the brief video chats you and Princess Shuri have monthly. You've barely spoken a word to him and this world's T'Chaka is not the same man but you feel his loss weight on your heart.

You read up on Ultron, who in this world was a failed program instead of a robot Stark created to keep the cities of America clear of rebels.

You read about Hydra, about the Maximoff Twins you've encountered a few times in your years. Wanda Maximoff is the worst woman you've ever had the pleasure of shooting, and it's still your biggest regrets your shot wasn't fatal. The nightmares she filled your head with were not new but her spell brings them forth at the most unnoportune times. It hasn't still fully faded.

You're hoping the change of universe will change that (it won't, you'll find out later).

The Sokovian Accords are the single new thing. The original draft was rejected by half of the Avengers and with the addition of a longtime POW James Barnes, caused a conflict that the media has dubbed the 'Civil War'. It brings a cold sweat to your skin, the fact that your world's fate could still be future here. Currently they've found a new alternative to the Accords, and are working on a way to keep all vigilantes and heroes safe and accounted for.

And Barnes, James Barnes, your close associate, traitor to the Avengers, is in this world, and he's healthy and he's with his friend who _didn't_ try to conquer the world, and he was introduced as an Avenger last month.

You swallow. It's... It's impossible.

The Avengers are heroes here. Heroes that don't get a twisted moral code and start to overthrow the world. Genuine heroes and not monsters who take children from their parents and homes from families.

No.

You close the tabs and stare at the green and blue wallpaper on the computer screen.

No. No. You've died and somehow, in your last moments, your brain is conjuring up a dream for you. Or you're in a coma, and this is a feverish dream. There is no way you traveled to another world just like that. Not into a world where the Avengers are heroes. Absolutely not.

The only good Avengers are dead Avengers. And that's that.

But you know you're kidding yourself. You can't be in a coma, because your side doesn't have the resources to sustain coma patients and the Avengers don't have the heart to save opposition. As ridiculous as it is, off world travel is your only acceptable explanation.

You groan and rub a hand over your face. That's just great.

* * *

Armed with this newly acquired information, you set out into the world with a new pair of eyes.

You should have realised earlier.

There isn't an Ultron bot in sight, and you can see a difference in the people; in the expressions, the way people meet each other. They're safe here, as safe as they can be in America. There is no added fear of being accused a mutant and dragged away to join an army, no hostility towards strangers who could be mutants.

You don't know if it's a safer world, but at least it's a little bit better.

You go to the closest Starbucks and order a black coffee. The cashier informs you you still have eight dollars on your card.

You drink the coffee almost scalding hot, sitting at an elevated table across the windows. It's currently the lull after the morning rush, so there aren't too many people distracting you with their noises and smells. Altough, there is a lady who has a terrible cough and a man who seems to have bathed in his cologne this morning.

You need a plan of action. Or even an action. Something to do after this. Either you're going to find a way back, or you're going to have to start a new life here.

To find a way back, you'd have to consult with someone who has knowledge of these things, and the two singular people who come to mind are the Sorcerer Supreme and a certain Asgardian.

They're both in New York.

You don't have money.

And you have no idea where you are, except you know that it's not New York. But, well. That's a plan as good as any.

You down the rest of your coffee, still hot, but your already burnt tongue doesn't know that.

* * *

It takes you roughly three days. You forgo trains as transportation after sneaking in and getting kicked off at the very next station. Therefore your trip is mostly walking and sometimes hitching a ride from people who are kind enough to offer and who you deem trustworthy enough. They all praise you for being young and living life, and you really don't know what else to tell them, so you smile and steer the conversation away from you.

And then you're in the City of New York. Your latest ride (you hadn't had many; only three, all of them taking you only a few hours at a time), Alina, drops you off at the Empire State Building as per your request, and drives off after telling you to enjoy your time.

Alina has been your favorite so far, because of the cockelspaniel that travels on her backseat. And because she was a very kind and comfortable person to be around.

You heave a sigh and look around, grasping the straps of your backpack in your hands.

Manhattan. You haven't been here in ages; last time was on some family trip when your parents were still together.

Okay. Get to New York, check. Talk to the Sorcerer Supreme, coming up. You wonder how difficult it would be to just ask around for a sorcerer.

The Avengers Tower catches your eye. It looms over the city, guarding, watching. It's been a symbol of power for a long time, a symbol of wealth for even longer.

You hate it. You hate what it represents and you hate that you want to go and see what it looks like up close. But, oh well. You have nothing but time.

Your step has a bounce to it, a free, touristy bounce that, for now, you'll let remain. There's nothing wrong with enjoying yourself when you can; even though guilt twists your guts. You should be working tirelessly to find a way back home, not admiring Manhattan and thinking about ice cream. Oh god, ice cream...

It turns out the Avengers Tower is not that impressive. Yes, of course, it's high-tech, it's modern, it's tall. But it's just a building. The only thing special about it is the fact that somewhere in there live the Avengers, and you're not going to give it much points for that.

You skulk around for a bit, smelling and eyeing around. It would be useful for you, if you ever got back home and in the situation where you would need to get into the tower, to know your way around. Of course, you don't want to get into any trouble, so you stick to the areas tourists are allowed to, but you take extra care to memorise all the nooks and crannies. It makes you feel less guilty, convincing yourself that you're here for work, not for pleasure.

When you leave, the sun is already setting. The crowd has changed in the streets. It's concentrated; less individuals, more groups. Some of them are louder, some of them quieter. It doesn't smell of alcohol yet. Dinner crowds.

You walk the streets and you follow the scent of magic. It's faint, subdued in the overcrowded city, but you'd caught it at the Tower, and then in random spots of the city. It makes a breadcrumb tail to the Sanctum like you'd hoped.

It's an impressive building, more than the Tower, and maybe it's just because you find old structures more impressive. It's a concentrated scent of magic, and you want to retch, but instead you keep your breathing steady and walk up to the door. You knock.

There's a minute of waiting before you hear a crackle of magic. You take a step back. Suddenly you're face to face with none other than Doctor Stephen Strange.

Except, he's glowing, orange, and transparent. A hologram. You scoff. The hologram rolls its neck, then looks straight ahead, which is just above your head. You figure it's prerecorded.

"We are not in at the moment, we don't know when we'll return, I won't tell you where you are and no, you can't leave a message."

You furrow your brows. The hologram pauses and tilts its head, seemingly listening at someone. It rolls its eyes. "If your matter is urgent, pay a visit to the Avengers."

The way Strange says 'Avengers' suggests he doesn't like them much at all. Then it nods, and disappears in a zap.

You stare at the now empty space in front of you, dumbfounded. There is a major hole in your plan. You'd never assumed Strange wouldn't be available, altough maybe you should have.

You've seen Doctor Strange a few times, but mostly he prefers to keep to himself and guard the Time Stone. Once he'd been over at your compound, having an argument with Xavier, Barnes and Pym. You'd listened in, but halfway Barnes had checked for you and then sent you away.

You knock again, but it just triggers the hologram again. Frustrated, you kick the door. A bit of magic zaps at you for your troubles. You yelp, show a middle finger to the door and droning hologram, and turn around.

You have nowhere to go. That's the problem with being in a random universe where you either exist or don't.

Sighing, you grab the straps of your backpack and pick a direction. You have a whole lot to think, and a whole night to walk.

New York might not be big enough.


	4. Chapter 4

New York never really sleeps.

People have work at all possible bizarre times, and they run errands, they party through the night, or they just don't sleep.You're never the only one on the streets, you're never alone.

It's past midnight when you climb to the rooftop of an apartment building and settle into a corner with your backpack. You still don't sleep, because when you close your eyes, your vision tinges red and then it's green eyes and falling all over again.

Not that you need that much sleep; a few hours a night suffices, granted you don't run around wasting your energy. So you rest for a while, catching little tendrils of sleep, which might amount to two or so hours.

There's a silent moment in the city when the sun breaches the horizon. You've spent the night climbing up the buildings as much as you are able (you're a fantastic climber, but unlike Parker whose fingers stick like glue, you aren't a match to smooth surfaces), and therefore you're able to admire the sunrise from an advantage point. It's gorgeous, and for just a moment you're grateful you were transported here.

You find a Starbucks and wait for it to open before climbing back down to the street. You use your giftcard for a black coffee and a butter croissant to go, and then you climb back up to the rooftops. You find heights comforting, which you assume comes from some avian part of your mutation.

Taking a seat, you watch the people down on the ground, noting their appearances, their manners. It's weekend, you deduct both from the people and from the newspaper one of them is carrying. Saturday. It was Tuesday when you died. Makes chronological sense.

It would also suggest time runs the same in both these universes, though you can't be entirely sure now that you can't see how long you've actually been gone. It could still be Tuesday over there.

You sigh around your mouthful of croissant, knocking your ankles together. You should try again at the Sanctum today, but you feel like showing up at the crack of dawn isn't going to do you any favours. You'll need to mill around for a few hours at least.

You're pulled from your thoughts as the approaching scent of someone alerts you before somebody drops down behind you. It's a graceful and dignified landing, and irritatingly familiar.

"Heights can be quite dangerous, you know," the painfully familiar, teenage-squeaky voice of Parker says to you.

You close your eyes and turn your head. "And what makes you except from this rule?"

You hear him huff and then he's sitting down next to you, familiar scent and familiar precense. You want to lean on him, want him to comfort you in that idiotic way only Parker can.

"Haven't you heard? I'm Spiderman." He sounds confident in himself, self assured like everything is great in his life. It makes your chest swell, just the sole thought of your friend being happy.

You laugh softly. "Spiderman?"

He gives an affronted gasp, as if your question has offended him greatly. You laugh louder.

The reason behind your amusement is quite simple; you have several, distinct memories of all the times Parker has reminded you of how _terrified_ he is of spiders. To think his alternate version boasts such a name.

"Shouldn't you have something better to do than bothering a civilian?" You ask, amused as you hear his heartrate slow down. He'd been embarrassed.

The red mask contorts, which you take as him scrunching up his face.

"I would, but Saturday mornings are usually pretty quiet."

"Then why are you here?" You question, washing down your croissant with coffee. "You could be sleeping in."

You imagine that Parker's cheeks tint red. He shrugs, kicking his legs over the edge. So far any people haven't noticed you in your potentially precarious situation, but you imagine that will now change, given how bright Spiderman's suit is.

"I was... just for fun."

You drink the last of your coffee and stand up faster than normal humans should. Parker reaches out, as if to catch you, but you don't fall. You never were going to.

"So.. Spiderman," you grin with sharp teeth, "if you want to have fun with another person, I wouldn't mind if you accompanied me."

* * *

The Sanctum wouldn't open, no matter how long you knocked and screamed at them. The Hologram keeps flickering in and out, neverending with its droning. Parker stays to watch all of it, perched on a windowstill and peering down at you.

He's snickering at you, and you glare at him and push your hair off your face.

"Is this what you had planned for the day?"

You try not to look too desperate when you look up at him, but the way Parker perks into attention tells you you've failed.

"Yeah, well," you motion for the door that remains decidedly closed, "I didn't want to think about what I'd do if this doesn't work."

Your eyes feel wet, and soon you have tears falling down your cheeks. Parker jumps down, hands again up, as if to reach for you, to steady you. You almost let him, but he drops his hands last minute.

"Hey, hey," he says gently, "I don't know what's going on, but maybe I can help you? I'm a hero, after all."

You sniffle and wipe a hand under your nose and eyes, then chuckle. "I don't... I don't think you'd be able to do much."

"Well, I could listen, at least," he suggests, and you can't tell if his voice is shaking because you're crying or because there's something he wants to avoid, and you're an excuse, "if, if you want to talk."

* * *

You take Parker climbing.

He's hesitant at first, hovering and discouraging you from doing it, but after he sees your performance, he's less hesitant and starts to break his shell a little. Be a teenager.

You leap over rooftops and keep climbing higher and higher, until eventually, you stop at the very top of the Empire State building. Parker is very reluctant to have you there without support, so you allow him to hold your hand. Secretly, you like it.

"I'm not from here." You start with.

"I could tell," he says, "your accent's all over the place."

You laugh. "Not what I meant, but thank you for telling me you don't like my accent. No, I, uh. I'm not from this world."

His hold of your hand spasms. Then, he chuckles hesitantly. "You... are out of this world?" And then he squeaks and his heart jumps. You snicker, pulling at his hand playfully.

"Why thank you, Parker. Yes, I'm from another universe."

"You know my name."

You freeze. You hadn't thought of that, to be honest. Well, you'd planned on revealing it, like, maybe as an off-hand comment, which, granted, this sort of was-

"How do you know my name?"

You exhale. "We work together. I've known him for three years."

"Wow." Parker says. To your surprise, the next thing he does is pull his mask up to reveal his face. You blink in suprise. "Are you a hero as well? Or an Avenger? Do the Avengers exist in your universe?"

His ramblings escape your ears. You're too busy staring at your friend's face. It's so young, barely sculpted by age, definitely still rounded out with baby fat. He's so soft now, less tired, altough there is heaviness in his eyes that you don't know the source of.

Not thinking, you reach up and run your thumb under his left eye. His skin is smooth. Parker stops rambling and looks at you, eyes wide open in surprise.

"You're so young..." His suprised expression turns affronted, and he gently pushes your hand away.

"You're not that much older."

Your attempted grin turns out flat. "That's not what I meant. Parker, he... he's tired. You haven't - and I hope you never will - gone through what he has. It shows."

You look away to gaze over the city, hoping he doesn't start asking questions. You would answer, honestly. It's the face. Parker is your friend and due to the fact his room is directly next to yours, you tend to share a lot. And talk through the walls at night.

The Parker next to you doesn't say anything for a while. You don't know what he's thinking (unfortunately there aren't any animals that are capable of mind-reading, so you're stuck guessing like normal people), but you have a pretty good idea.

"Do you have a place to stay?" It's not the question you expected. You turn to look at him and find him staring at you, brown eyes warm and compassionate. You tighten your hold around his hand.

"I'll find a place. I have to... have to think of another plan."

"Right..." Parker says, "You have to get home."

You don't think about the tone of his voice or about his eyes or his hand in yours on the climb down, or about how instead swinging down he comes at your pace.

You don't think about it, because otherwise you'd forget that he isn't your Parker.


	5. Chapter 5

  
"You're sure this is a good idea?"

Parker glances at you over his shoulder while fumbling with the lousy window lock. He's pulled his mask up to his nose, though for what reason, you don't know.

  
"Yeah," though his voice squeaks. "Aunt May's cool."

  
You don't know Aunt May. You couldn't know. She's dead. Or as good as.

  
Spiderman crawls through the window about as gracelessly as you wouldn't expect from a spider, and you follow him with a roll of your eyes. You've done your fair share of sleuthing; windows aren't a problem for you.  
However, you're one leg out when Parker hisses "Ned?" which makes you freeze and you feel your skin grow cold. Wow. Your chameleon effect does not act up very often.

It's more an instinctive skill that you have no control over. It's useless, though, unless you're completely naked because, surprise surprise, it does not affect your clothes.

  
"Peter!" A voice you don't know hisses right back. "We were supposed to meet two hours ago! What were you doing?"

"Uhhh..."

  
You roll your eyes. "He was with me." You pull yourself fully through the window and come further inside to face this Ned. He doesn't look familiar, but his round eyes are endearing. 

"Hi, I'm (L/N). I'm from another universe."  
Ned looks like he's about to faint. You wouldn't be surprised if he did; he isn't really breathing. Parker is also staring at you, eyes big.

  
"You're a mutant?"

You roll your eyes. It's become a default by now, somehow. "The climbing didn't clue you in?"

  
He flushes. Ned starts gesturing and slapping Parker's arm excitedly. You smile.

  
"You're a chameleon? They're a chameleon? Peter, where did you find them?"

  
"Over at Manhattan," you click your tongue and smile with all teeth, "I needed a place to stay."

  
"They're from another universe." Parker adds uselessly.

  
Ned takes it all surprisingly well. He does have to sit down and he does have more questions than you can or want to answer, but all in all he takes your story far better than you'd imagine. Maybe it's a teenage thing; Parker also took it in stride.

  
You're in the middle of explaining your mutation to them - they get sidetracked almost immediately, bouncing ideas of how your camouflage could work and if it could be enhanced with technology or science.

They'd seemed a bit bummed you weren't a natural camouflager, but you liked watching them this animated. Happy people are rare to come by in your universe - when you start noticing signs of living outside the room and inside the apartment. 

  
Steps, those of a woman, you assume, and yawns, the same person shuffling through a bathroom, a kitchen, and then coming up to the door of Parker's room and knocking.  
You jump up from the floor and a deadly hush falls in the room.

  
The door opens. "Peter? Ned? What are you still doing here? I thought you had a thing-"  
Brown eyes fall on your nervous figure. You wave, feeling your heart skip a beat. If this is Aunt May, she's fucking gorgeous.

  
"Did you make a new friend? Wait- why are you wearing your Spiderman costume?"  
Aunt May seems like she's just woken up. Given you didn't know she was here before, she probably has. 

  
"M-May- I, uh," Parker's guilty stuttering is doing nothing to help the situation (altough there isn't really anything to hide or feel guilty about, all three of you are acting like you've commited a murder and May caught you in the middle of trying to dispose of the body), so you step closer and extend your arm with a friendly smile.

  
"Hello! I'm Y/N L/N. I know your son through work."

  
May looks at you sceptically, then she closes her eyes and shakes her head, looking more baffled than anything. She takes your hand.

  
"May Parker, nice to meet you, Y/N," you shiver at the sound of your name, "And Peter isn't my son; he's my nephew."

  
"Of course," you agree, having no fucking idea what you're saying anymore, "you're far too young to have a son his age."

  
She quirks an eyebrow at you, seeming both amused and confused, smiling indulgingly. May turns to Parker and Ned. "I'm going to go now. There's lasagne in the fridge if you get hungry. Love you!"

  
"Thanks, Aunt May," Parker peeps, "Love you too!"

  
And then he closes his room door and levels you with a look. "Did you just flirt with my Aunt?"

  
You spread your arms defensively. "To be fair, I think I blacked out a bit before I said it."

  
He does not look convinced.

* * *

  
You sort of forget why you are with Parker - please call me Peter - and Ned. They're fun to be around, and even though they're younger, you're under no illusion that they're not smarter.

  
Ned is sweet and he makes both you and Parker laugh until your stomachs hurt. (He also tries to gift you chocolte, and just for his grin you almost take it.

  
"Sorry, I'm allergic."

  
It's as if that's the most shocking thing they've heard today. Maybe it isn't a thing here.

  
"To theobromine?" Parker whispers as he and Ned both lean closer with wide eyes.   
You huff playfully. "I'm not a dog! I'm allergic to cacao beans.")

  
And, well, just seeing Parker happy, really happy, is enough to make your heart swell in what people would call love, but what you stubbornly refuse to name. 

  
For a while, you forget. You're just a teenager, and these are your friends, and you're having fun and not running from anything.

  
For a while, that's true.

  
Then you're sitting in front of a TV and the news are on, and Ned's changing the channel but Parker yells "Wait! That's Mr. Stark!" and your stomach lurches.

  
It is Stark. And the rest of the Avengers, out of armor, out of battle, on a red carpet, smiling and waving. The crowd is cheering, like they're celebrities, and the news anchor is trying to strike up a conversation with one of them, calling out questions in a rapid fire.

  
It's not the first time in your life you see the Avengers on TV. It's not the first time they face a loud, faceless crowd as if they're heroes. As if the red beneath their feet truly is just a carpet and not the blood they've spilled, not the corpses they walk on.

  
It's the first time the anger you direct at them is not justified.

  
Your heart is heavy in your chest, you taste bile on your tongue. You stand up. Then you sit back down because you have nowhere to go.

  
You have to run, you have to break things and you have to scream, to fight someone and win with blood under your fingernails or lose with too many wounds to lick. The apartment isn't big enough for your anger and the city has too many eyes for it. So you curl your hands into fists and you breathe.

  
"You alright?"

  
The TV is off, you realize. Parker and Ned are looking at you cautiously. You do not smile to reassure them, because you know it wouldn't help. They're young, but they're not fools, and you won't treat them as such.

  
You open your mouth and then hesitate.

  
You should. Because they are young and foolish, and they have no part in the world you're about to tell them of. Because this uncertainty, this nausea, is not something they deserve. Not Parker, who is already involved, who adores the Avengers, Tony Stark, because they're heroes and he wants to be one, too. He doesn't deserve it. That sliver of distrust, those constant what ifs, the lack of answers.

  
Not Ned, who loves his friend, who would have to wonder, and keep wondering, if Peter is truly safe with the people he is supposed be safe with. Has to wonder, whether his friend, his world, is in good hands.

  
You purse your lips and nod, and you watch how they see you close off.

  
"I should go."

  
Parker calls after you, as you go to his room to retrieve your backpack, as you jump out of his window and drop down to the street. But he doesn't try to stop you. He doesn't chase after you.

  
Good, you think. He shouldn't get involved.

* * *

  
  
It's been two days.

  
You'd slept one night on a rooftop, flitting in and out of conciousness. Your dreams are no longer only about green eyes and falling; your old nightmares have made their return. Dreaming is a chaotic mix of endless falling and running, of chained mutants and desperate screams. The quality of your sleep has not improved.

  
The other night you'd slept in a shelter. "Slept". You'd gone there because it had started raining too strongly for you to possibly endure a whole night. The shelter had been packed full because of the rain and convenient location, and therefore it was full of smells and sounds that fused together.

You couldn't fall asleep, not that you wanted to; it would have been impossible for you to tell if a threat entered if you were asleep. Not with all the distractions.

  
You haven't left New York. You can't bring yourself to do it.

  
It's been two days since you met Parker and Ned, and you're running on fumes. You haven't come up with a plan; the Sanctum still won't open, you know the hologram's words by heart.

  
You absolutely cannot bring yourself to waltz up to the Avengers Tower and ask for help. It's stomach-turning to even think of. You physically can not, even though you walk past the building twice every day. You expect you'll be brought in for questoning sooner than you go in out of your free will. 

  
You know it's your only option. The Sanctum isn't of help, and you don't know anyone else who might be able to help. Let alone willing.

  
(You don't think about how Spiderman hasn't come looking for you. You don't deserve his concern after storming out like that, and you shouldn't want it. He's a kid. Your problems aren't his).

  
You're in a pickle. 

  
It takes your stomach gurgling and twisting painfully to pull you out of your self-pity. You haven't eaten. The shelter provided porridge for breakfast, but you hadn't eaten the previous day and porridge doesn't really hold hunger for long. It had just made you hungrier.

  
There's still about four or three dollars on your Starbucks gift card, but you're saving it for until you're delirious with hunger and your stomach has started to ingest itself. 

  
You really should get help. From someone.

  
You get up. It makes pain stab needles in your stomach, but it's not that bad. You're not too weak to move yet; you have stored energy (though where, is anyone's guess. Your lifestyle and diet keep you on the lean side) and can survive slightly longer than the average human without any food. The feeling of hunger should fade by tomorrow. You'd be fine for over a month. Practically unable to move due to lack of energy? Yes. But fine.  
Other people (such as everyone) often disagree with this and tell you you should take better care of yourself.

  
It wouldn't hurt you to try again at the Sanctum. You already know it would be fruitless: whatever they have going on seems to be taking a while. However, you have literally nothing else in your life right now.

  
"That's them."

  
You very carefully do not freeze on the spot.

  
It's a voice you know well, usually talking you down, or himself up, or anything that just comes to his dark, twisted mind. Tony Stark.

But it doesn't smell like him, you think, picking a direction headlessly, trying to discern which way you hear the crowd from. No nitric oxide, no metal, no coconuts. No Tony Stark. Why did you hear his voice?

  
"They're heading for Bleecker street. Engage before other civilians get involved." That's Captain. His voice has a crackle to it. They're giving commands through comms. One man mission. 

  
You purse your lips. They've severly underestimated you. Depending on who they sent. 

  
You can't catch a smell, and the person hasn't spoken yet so you can't identify them either. 

  
You take a sharp turn and find yourself in an alley. Good. You stride forward, listening, ready to fight.

  
Then you stop. You hear fabric rustling, a murmur of confused sounds. Why are you running? Is this not what you need? A push to meet the Avengers for real, so they can help you? A bitter sneer forms on your lips. If they want to help you. You keep walking, but already on the fourth step you hesitate. But what if they do? Bleecker Street was already a bust; you're only hurting yourself by going there.

  
No. It would hurt your ego too much, to stoop so low as to ask the enemy for help and then get rejected. You can't even be sure you could bring yourself to say it. Not in the form of a request, at least. You shudder. No. No, no. 

  
You can't.

  
Someone's behind you. A smell that's distinctly vibranium, and for a second you think you made a mistake, that Captain is actually here-

  
You whip around, ready to punch and kick. A red hand catches your fist and your kick is blocked. You stare into yellow, nonhuman eyes.

  
"Excuse me."

  
You freeze with fear. Not because you've never seen an android. Not because you think it looks scary. Not even because you're in a deserted alleyway, alone with an android who's apprehended you before you could even put up a fight.

  
"I mean you no harm."

  
You freeze because you're looking into Ultron's ringed, golden eyes. Because you never expected to see Ultron here - not after the articles telling you about it, about what happened with Ultron. You - foolishly - didn't expect these Avengers to keep it.

  
You scramble backwards, and, surprisingly, the android lets you. It's looking at you patiently, hands up in a palcating manner.  
You glare at it, reaching for your gun that's hidden under your shirt.

  
"They're armed!" Captain warns at the same time Stark asks "What's their problem?"

  
You know, as you point your gun, that it has no effect on Ultron. It never does. Its vibranium body, the stone lodged into its forehead. Ultron is just about as invincible as it can get. 

  
Ultron hasn't killed you yet. That's fair. Ultron is programmed not to kill (lie: Ultron kills anyone that defies it if they aren't a mutant. Mutants wish they were killed), but usually it has sadistic tendencies, and the times you've been injured by Ultron, whether by its bots or it itself, racks up the same numbers as all the injuries you've got from the Avengers as a collective. Ultron is dangerous. Why hasn't it hurt you yet?

  
"What do you want?" Your voice doesn't waver due to years of practice. Ultron will still know you're afraid.

  
"To talk."

  
Its voice is different. British. Like a butler. It's soothing and intelligent and you don't like that, because while Ultron is intelligent it isn't soothing.

  
"About what?"

  
The gun in your hands gives you worthless courage. It's familiar and secure, and there's safety in it, even though all you can really do against Ultron's vibranium body is escape.

  
"About your visits to the Sanctum Sanctorium and your loitering in front of our home."

  
Our home. The choice of words puzzle you. Ultron doesn't - it's never, once, said 'our' or 'home' - unless in a mockery or a threat, because of course Stark programmed it that way. 

  
"Why?"

  
"If you'd lower your weapon and calmly follow me, I'll be happy to tell you."

  
Ultron is never that polite. Not even when its bots are getting destroyed by powerful mutants it's banned from killing. You narrow your eyes.

  
"Are you trying to kidnap me? Harvest my parts? Sell me as a slave? Brainwash me and make me a soldier in your giant, underground army?" But you already know you're going.

  
Stark and Captain are silent. You wonder why they even needed to be here, with Ultron. Ultron is an independed operator that, unfortunately, is loyal to Stark.

  
It looks surprised. Again, something that sets it apart from your world's Ultron. "No." It says and you hear emotion, "Just to talk."

  
You put your gun away.

  
"Okay."


	6. Chapter 6

The Tower is insufferably modern. And it smells like the Avengers. And Barnes. Barnes' scent makes you relax, though you're led away from the freshest trail. Not that you'd follow it. That's creepy, and you're not a creep. It's just that Barnes is literally the only person you trust in this whole building.

Ultron leads you to a room that's designed to look like a comfortable office, but which is probably only used for things like this. The walls are a soft blue, and there's a desk, a blue couch and two armchairs, and a couple bookshelves behind the desk.

It looks nothing like the rest of the Tower you've seen. It almost convinces you that it's a room that's lived in.

On one of the armchairs sits Tony Stark. He's in a three piece suit, phone in hand and completely disinterested in the Captain who's pacing the length of the room.

Your heart speeds up. It's like a nightmare. You breathe in deep and smell vibranium and coconuts and cologne and coal. You almost choke.

They turn to face you when Ultron lets you inside. Stark's face is neutral. It always is: he's always playing unreadable. It makes him powerful. Captain has a furrow between his brows and a thin line for a mouth.

It's also an expression you're used to seeing.

"Wow, I almost feel welcome."

"It's almost like you are welcome."

"Stark."

Your eyebrows arch. Despite your absolute terror, seeing Rogers send a scold at Stark is amusing.

You're so used to not seeing any interaction between them away from battle. And you hope to keep it that way.

Rogers turns to you, immediately looking more like a human instead of a Super Soldier. "I apologize. It was rude of us to send Vision after you and scare you like that, but we didn't know how else to reach you."

His voice is less deep in this world, not innocent, but more compassionate. You take care to note the way he stands, how he gestures. He's less military here, even if his whole character is based on the US military. You hadn't noticed before in the woods. It's a difference that helps calm your mind.

You lift your chin. "Vision?"

Ultron at your side shifts to return to your full view. "I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. I am Vision." It even smiles and extends a hand for you to shake.

You stare at it, completely baffled. Vision. Who the fuck is Vision supposed to be?

Instead of starting your inevitable meltdown early, you turn back to Rogers. "Why am I here?"

"I think you know why, little rascal." Stark gets up and smooths his jacket, sauntering over to you. That's how you would describe it. In this world and in yours. Sauntering. Maybe strutting. "You've been going between my Tower and the Wizard Plaza for a few days now, and we'd like to know why. We'd also like to know who you are, where you come from, and who you work for."

He's so close you smell coconut through his cologne. You narrow your eyes, glancing at Rogers.

"Shouldn't you know who I am? Don't you have access to literally all knowledge on the planet?"

Stark steps back and you're pretty sure he's preening.

"We did our best to find out who you are," Rogers pipes in, "but nothing came up. Not your face and not your fingerprints."

That doesn't sit well in your stomach. You don't let it show.

"So that means you work for someone." Stark starts again. "Who is it? Hydra? AIM? Hammer?"

You roll your eyes. "You think if I was sent here to spy on you, I'd have gotten found out? The fact that I'm here should tell you I don't work for anyone."

Stark looks at you, contemplative. "Hammer, then. Of course his spies would be lousy, too."

You decide not to ask who the hell Hammer is.

"I am not a spy, Stark." You bite out, face just barely not contorting in a snarl. You breathe deeply and roll your shoulders back before looking Stark in the eyes. "I'm Y/N L/N, I'm from another universe, and I need your help."

It doesn't even take your whole sentence to have Stark rolling his eyes at you. Rogers, however, doesn't look as ready to dismiss you. It might have something to do with why he was at the neck of woods that week ago.

"Please," Stark holds his hands up, "try your bullshit on someone else."

"They might be speaking the truth," Rogers says slowly, as if weighing his words. Stark rolls his eyes again. "Remember when Falcon and I answered a call to Florida a week ago? There was reportedly a disturbance in the athmosphere and matter." He motions to you. "We met them a few miles off the mark."

Stark stays silent for a while, eyes never leaving you. You're familiar with his silences as well. They're dangerous. The first time you'd fought Stark and he'd gone quiet, you'd thanked the heavens for finally, finally shutting him up. The following destruction had been chaos to you, but the puzzle pieces falling together for Stark.

"Let's say I believe you," he says eventually, "why didn't you come here sooner?"

Because I hate you. Because you're my enemies and despite all the proof I have in my hands I just can't trust you. "I figured the Sanctum Sanctorium would be better. You're not exactly... equipped in the similar way."

Stark's brows furrow, though only for a flinch, really. He doesn't like being told what he doesn't have. That doesn't surprise you.

"Even after you learned they were away?" Rogers pipes up, and he sounds infuriatingly gentle, as if he's talking to a child. You want to punch him and ask what makes him think you're a child.

"How long have you been following me?" The thought that they've kept their eyes on you, that they've seen how you've spent your days, your nights... it makes your skin crawl.

"We started yesterday," Vision says and you flinch. No matter that it apparently wasn't Ultron; you were still afraid of it. You side eye the android. It stands to the side, still like a statue, or like one of Stark's armors in sentry-mode.

You glance away. Stark and Rogers are looking at you expectantly. What do they want you to say? Are they expecting you to plead and beg for their help? Should you be able to pay?

"I don't have any money."

"That's literally the least of my concerns."

You scowl at Stark. Rogers' shoulders rise and fall.

"I can pay with work. I just need food and a place to stay."

"We didn't say we'd help you."

"Tony."

Stark rolls his eyes. "Fine."

You blink, then narrow your eyes. That easy?

"But you'll be under constant surveillance, and before we do anything, I'm going to personally quadruple check that you're not a spy."

"If I was a spy don't you think I'd have thought of something more believable?" You're taken by surprise by your snarky reply. You've never had the courage to talk back to Stark before, even when he'd been forced to retreat.

His eyes glint with something unfamiliar, which means it's not anger. You might have to take this new strategy into practice when you get home.

"You never truly know these days."

You're about to say something, something even snarkier, something more risky. Your heart is pounding and you're not sure if it's fear or excitement. But then Rogers says, "If you'd step into the hall for a minute, Y/N. Me and Tony will have to talk."

Vision opens the door for you immediately. You inch backwards slowly, trying to find out if they have someone waiting for you in the hallway. There doesn't seem to be anyone, but you wouldn't put an ambush below them.

You step out of the room and take a deep breath to calm yourself down. Then you immediately freeze, because you smell Barnes. Close, so close.

You open your eyes. Coming down the hall towards you, is none other than James Barnes.

* * *

James Buchanan Barnes. World's longest held Prisoner of War, the fist of Hydra, the Winter Soldier, and your savior.

He's the only person to ever turn their back to the Avengers and walk away unscathed. It's common knowledge that is only because he is Rogers' only link to the past, despite the recently cremated Peggy Carter whose ashes Barnes has a handful of. He keeps them inside a locket that is a replica of the one that used to belong to one of his sisters.

Rogers has led a worldwide hunt for Barnes for nearly two years now, convinced he only needs to find his friend to get him back to his side.

Barnes has been away in Wakanda for business, by a special invitation of prince T'Challa that had been presented by princess Shuri, who had then apologized to you that the invitation did not extend to anyone else.

You'd sent Barnes away with a letter to the princess and a fierce hug that he'd returned ten-fold. Even though used to spending large amounts of time apart, it's always worse when Barnes is the one who has to leave. This time it's better, though, because you know there is not a safer place than Wakanda, and he'd be returning safe and sound.

Except you wouldn't be there to welcome him back.

And now, when he's standing in front of you for the first time in eight weeks, you almost break into a run to give him a very very tight hug. You restrain yourself though, because your eyes fall upon his arm, and that's not the same one your Barnes has. It's very similar, but definitely not the same: you know every indent of that arm by now.

Still. He's walking towards you, and unless you bail right now, you have a chance. Body charged with tension, you walk to meet Barnes. He's the one who taught you everything you know about 'professional' deception (of course you'd been a rather good liar, being able to see people's reactions before they felt them, hearing their heartbeat and smelling them) so you're not so sure how well this is going to go, but any weirdness can be chalked up to being nervous.

"Mr. Barnes?" You ask, slowing to a hesitant stop just before you're in front of him. He stops as well. "Hi."

He peers at you suspiciously. You're in the Avengers' personal spaces, so he's probably certain enough you're not an enemy, but nothing can be sure so you understand his wariness. Besides, maybe he doesn't get talked to by strangers that much, which you find ridiculous.

"Hello."

You smile, stomach flopping around nervously. "Oh, you are him. Sorry, I couldn't be sure with your hair in the way. Just wanted to greet you, since I saw my opportunity."

His eyebrow raises in concealed amusement and you realize you mucked up with this. "My arm wasn't a dead giveaway?"

You feel heat travel to your cheeks and ears. Eyes flick down to his arm. You know staring makes him uncomfortable, so you attempt to look shy when you look him in the eyes.

"Caught me. Anyway, I just wanted to say I really admire you."

He blinks, unused to unprompted praise from strangers. "Thanks? Are you an agent? You look a bit young."

Your smile turns into a grimace of sorts, lips pulling down just a bit. "No, actually. I'm meeting with Captain- Rogers and Mr. Stark. I expect I'll be around here more."

"That so," he answers softly - almost grumpily. Does he not like you? You knew it was a bad idea to just come chatting up to him.

Then you hear the Captain's steps coming closer, and almost all fight leaves you. He's coming to get you. The door opens behind you.

"Well," your voice wavers a little. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Barnes."

"Yeah."

You turn around and walk back to the Captain. He's looking at you with a mix of concern and suspicion, but you ignore it to duck back into the room. Away from Barnes' comforting scent, his precense.

The smell of enemy is stronger now, when you finally dare to breathe again. It's as if having seen Barnes made your instincts wary again. You don't mind it. It'll keep you on your toes.

Rogers closes the door and walks past you. He's so close his heartbeat is a thud in your ears. You can smell soap on his skin. Unscented, impersonal.

Stark is again lounging on his chair. Vision stands where you last saw it.

"We'll help you." Rogers says. He speaks formally but his eyes betray emotion, one you haven't seen. You breathe a shallow sigh of relief. You don't know how much they'd be able to help you, but you'll take anything at this point.

"Thank you," you bite out, trying to sound grateful.

"But, we'll still keep you under surveillance and check your background just in case."

You arch your eyebrows and Rogers shrugs one shoulder. "We'll see about you working."

Then he smiles. A chill goes up your spine. It's a real smile, sheepish and amused. You've never seen a smile like that on Rogers' face.

You'll maybe have to get used to a lot of these firsts. To seeing the Avengers as humans. The thought makes you feel queasy, like ants are crawling on your skin.

"I understand," you try to sound light, joking, "you can never be too careful."

"We'll have a room for you ready in a snap," Stark says, climbing up and tucking his phone in his pocket. "In the meantime, why don't you join us for lunch? We know you haven't eaten."

You purse your lips. Should you live here, they would see your every single move, when you sleep, when you eat and what you eat.

Then again, you'll have them under surveillance as well. You could scope out the tower, try to figure out its layout, memorize it for your colleagues. Learn their patterns and their habits. Their weaknesses.

You smile. "That would be nice, thank you."


	7. Chapter 7

Lunch is a fancy affair.

There's only you, Stark and Rogers and a table full of food. Vision had disappeared wherever it goes when it's not needed, and no one else was invited. You don't mind it, really. You're tense enough with just two Avengers in one room with you.

You'd been led to a large kitchen and dining area, that, just like the room you'd started in, didn't reek of the Avengers as much as some other parts of the tower. They're trying to keep you from meeting the others right now, and you're reasonably grateful.

"How old are you again?" You pause in poking a cherry tomato across your plate and look up at Stark, whose plate is filled according to a balanced diet but nearly untouched, much like yours. He'd been drinking wine and picking out nuts from his salad.

"Nineteen," you reply sourly, the taste of alcohol strong on your tongue. You haven't drank any, but along gasoline, alcohol is the one thing you can't stand the smell of.

"Nineteen? A bit young for interdimensional travel."

You scowl and spear your tomato. "It wasn't voluntary."

Rogers shifts next to Stark. They'd been kind enough to let you choose how you wanted to be seated, but the result had ended up looking like two parents having a talk with their distant kid.

"How did it happen, then? I don't mean to be rude, but it seems even less likely that you were transported against your will."

To buy yourself time you pop the tomato in your mouth. Well, I was fighting you and Black Widow, and then Widow stabbed me and I presumably died, and the next thing I know, I'm in this whackadoodle reality.

"I don't know," you decide upon, "I think I blacked out, and the next thing I knew, I was here."

"What were you doing?"

"Um, exercising." You stuff bread into your mouth while both Stark and Rogers take in your lie. You smile around your mouthful.

"It wasn't technology." You say once you swallow. "There wasn't anything like that nearby. I think."

"Which is why you went to Strange," Rogers nods. His plate is empty again. It's almost ominous eating with the Avengers. You can't place the feeling, but you hate it. Dining with them, seeing them eat, being human.

Rogers puts salad leaves and pulled chicken between two pieces of bread. Your food sours in your mouth. God, you hate this.

"How likely is it that you're the reason?"

You narrow your eyes at Stark. He sounds indifferent, mildly curious. You're not fooled. He might be asking out of curiosity, but just as well he could be planning on harnessing whatever powers you have and using them to be the first one to discover interdimensional travel. Then he'd either marketalise it and use it to make even more money, or send armies or whatever to take control of the other worlds. There's just no telling what he'd do.

You tell yourself you're being ridiculous.

"Impossible."

Stark shrugs, then slaps his hands against the table. "Well then, allow me to show you to your new room."

Right. You follow suit as Stark gets up. You try to tidy up your spot as you do, but it seems unnecessary. Rogers motions for you to leave it alone and follow Stark. You nod to him and scurry off after your apparently new boss.

"We'll introduce you to the rest tomorrow. For today you're free to do what you want. Maybe shower." You frown at Stark as you trudge after him. Not that he's not right.

You've been washing up in public bathrooms and honestly, it's starting not to work. And a proper shower does sound nice. Stark stops in front of a door and motions for it with grandeau.

"Here you are. If you need anything at all, you can ask Friday."

"Hello, Y/N L/N."

You flinch at the unfamiliar, disembodied voice. It's distinctly female with almost the same tone as Vision's voice. Artificial. "Hello."

You nod to Stark who seems amused by your reaction to his weird AI voice.

"Thank you."

* * *

Shower is heavenly. You spend fifteen minutes just standing under the warm spray, then ten scrubbing your skin with soap. You swathe your skin in rose scented lotion and massge your scalp with vanilla shampoo. The towel and bathrobe are the softest things in the world.

You emerge from the batroom in a cloud of steam and smelling like a perfume store.

With the very last of your strength, you trudge over to the largest bed you've seen in your life and collapse on the comforter face down. You groan as you stretch.

You're so tired emotionally and physically, wound up but also incredibly relaxed... you should take a nap. Just a short one. Then you'll get dressed and maybe find some place to get rid of your pent up agression before you meet the rest of the Avengers and end up punching someone in the face.

You burrow into the bed and immediately doze off, hoping that a real bed would banish your nightmares for at least this time.

* * *

As chance would have it, you don't think you fell into sleep deep enough to dream. You do however wake up to the realization that meeting the Avengers means meeting the Widow, and meeting the Widow means meeting the one person who managed to plunge a knife into your heart.

That's not ideal.

The clock on the bedside table informs you it's quarter to five. You leap off the bed, shedding the bathrobe on your way up. You need to stretch, to actually excersice or you'll go crazy. Maybe if you're full of dopamine when you meet Widow you forget you want to pull her teeth out of her mouth one by one.

The wardrobe in the room is partially empty, only having what Stark seems to consider the essentials; two T-shirts, a button up, slacks, jeans and gym shorts. On one shelf there're still packaced underwear.

You dress yourself in a T-shirt and gymshorts, which fit you alright, though you have to use the strings on the shorts to keep them up properly.

At the door, you hesitate. "Hey, uh, Friday?"

"Yes?"

You fidget with the hem of your shirt. The AI sounds so knowing, you're almost embarrassed to realise it probably saw you get dressed. "Is- can I- hm. Where are the Avengers?"

"Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner and Agent Romanov are in their rooms. Everyone else is in the communal kitchen. If you start going left, you should avoid seeing them and I can direct you to a less used gym."

Your cheeks heat up, but you're grateful Friday understood. "Thanks, Friday."

"It's my pleasure."

The gym Friday shows you to is very basic, except everything looks like it was purchased just yesterday. There're treadmills, punching bags, weights and a boxing ring. It's just fine.

You roll your shoulders and get to work. It feels great, working up a sweat like this, even though you just showered. Or, possibly, because you just showered. And you can shower again! Wow, being rich sure has its perks doesn't it?

You run twenty minutes, startling and almost tripping when Friday speaks and asks if you'd like music put on. For the sake of trying it, you accept, but after a few minutes it becomes overwhelming and you have to ask Friday to turn it off.

Everything in the gym caters to superhumans. You'd noticed on the treadmill that it can go faster than regular treadmills are supposed to, and when you move to inspect the weights, you see the amounts you're used to lifting that some others never could. It makes you excited, but you're still reluctant to show - especially in front of an AI - that you're not a normal human.

So you keep to stats that would make you normally average, maybe a little above. You make up for the lighter weights in quantity, only putting them down once your arms start to tremble a bit.

When you finally stop moving, your body feels like jelly and there's a pleasant buzzing in your head. It seems, for the first time in a whole week, your head is empty of thoughts.

"L/N," as per your request, Friday adresses you by your surname. It makes you feel like you're back at home, where everything is familiar and you know what to do. Unlike here where everything is awful and you have no idea what you should be doing. "Mr. Stark would like to invite you to dinner."

You pick yourself up from the floor, which is nice and cool against your heated skin. It also smells faintly of the artificial lemons that so many detergents smell like, and that also reminds you of home. "Uh, what time is it?"

"Just half past seven." Friday informs you kindly and motherly, and you think maybe it's a she. You contemplate facing Stark again today, and the thought isn't appealing to you in the slightest. Also, you're not really hungry.

"No thank you. I'd much rather, uh... go back to sleep."

"I understand," Friday acknowledges and you believe she really does. "Do you need directions back to your room?"

Declining her offer, you leave the gym and sneak around the hallways, listening for approaching people, feeling both silly and cool, until you reach your room again.

Your room. It's not your room that's behind the door though. Not your own room. The one from home that fits a bed and a dresser and doesn't have a window. The one that holds five years of your life in it. The room you walk into looks and feels like a hotel room. Spacious, luxurious, impersonal. The bathrobe on the floor and the indent on the mattress are comforting to you, signs of life.

You pick up the bathrobe and go to the batroom, intent on another shower. The clothes you'd arrived to the tower in are folded on top of the toilet, where you'd left them. You shower quickly, then dress yourself in the other T-shirt and collapse on the bed, this time burrowing under the covers.

The bed is soft and comfortable, but it's wrong. Your mattress back at home is thin and starting to get lumpy, and your pillow soft and shapeless. Your room smells like detergent and blood, like Barnes and Parker - who both spend an equal amount of time in there. Most importantly, your room is never silent. You haven't had to sleep in silence for years now, and now that you're not tired to the bone you notice how much you miss the noise.

"Hey, Friday?" You caution after ten minutes of staring at the clinically white ceiling.

"Yes, L/N?"

You're about to ask her to call you by your first name. "Is there a radio I can listen to?"

"I can play you some music if you'd like me to."

"No, uh. No thank you. I need... people speaking."

Friday's voice is gentle and understanding. "I'll turn on the sports channel for you, then."

You fall asleep to a roar of cheers.


End file.
